From the Ashes

Chapter 13 ~ A Father's Face

    Tarion was still at the campsite when the night gave way to dawn. He sat slumped against a log, hands clasped over his stomach and eyes closed. The picture of ease amidst the carnage around him. That was how the patrol of Corrupted Fae he'd tracked down a few hours ago found him, having followed the fresh scent trail he laid back to the ravaged campsite.

    Tarion cracked an eye open when he sensed them watching him. There was Rhidian, staring down at him with a wicked, crooked grin. "Hadeon's Hel, Prince. It seems you had fun last night. Too bad we missed it." He kicked the stiff arm of the pretty young maid. "I might've liked to fuck this one."

    "If you like them sobbing like a lost child, I suppose," Tarion drawled, pushing himself upright. He glanced at his daggers, but didn't grab them. Rhidian followed his gaze, then jerked his head towards one of his followers. The male claimed the blades and carried them out of Tarion's reach.

    Rhidian's crimson eyes narrowed and he watched Tarion with blatant scrutiny. "Who released you?"

    "I found my own way out."

    Rhidian sniffed, lifting his chin. "Somehow I doubt that." He snapped his fingers and two more Corrupted Fae approached. Tarion didn't resist as they hauled him to his feet and took up positions on either side of him. Rhidian leaned closer, his smirk turning cruel. "But just in case, I'll make sure there are more chains next time. Come. He's waiting for you."

    Tarion remained silent and drew slow, measured breaths, keeping himself calm and centered as they set off in the direction opposite of where Morana was hiding. He hoped she'd made it to the ancient village and was safely tucked within it, but he didn't put it past her to have disobeyed and followed him instead.

    If she had and wound up discovered, maybe he'd just let Astaroth kill them both. He couldn't bring himself to care much about his own fate right now. Not after what he'd done last night. It was all too familiar. All too easy. An art he had practiced and perfected in the past centuries.

    With each life he took, he felt something wither and decay within him. It was a wonder he still had pieces of a heart to lose. At least his soul had already been claimed.

    They walked in silence and Tarion kept an eye on the patches of sky they passed beneath, gauging the time based on the sun's position. They walked for two hours before Rhidian slowed their pace. Tarion could make out a vacant clearing just ahead. He knew who would meet them there.

    Almost at once, the sky darkened above them. A cold wind lifted the hair from Tarion's brow and an eerie wail filled the air. The dark Lord arrived in a mass of writhing shadows which filled the clearing entirely. They didn't step into it until the shadows began to recede.

    Tarion already knew what he would see. Astaroth was a creature of blood and shadows, able to take whatever form he wished, and he always tormented Tarion with the same one. The shadows flattened onto the grass and splintered through the ground like cracks through ice.

    Immediately, the grass blackened beneath Tarion's feet. The trees around the clearing groaned, their trunks shuddering before large cracks split their bark and their leaves curled inward, already dead. Tarion kept counting his breaths.

    His escort forced him across the clearing and Rhidian pushed him down on his knees before the monster that wore the face of his father. It was Azael's voice he heard when Astaroth spoke. "Well, Prince? How did you enjoy your confinement?"

    "It was as pleasant as ever," Tarion gritted out.

    "And cut short. On whose order were you released?"